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Margo leans forward to speak through the small hole in the plexiglass separating the front and back seat. “Terminal B, please.”
“Mine says A,” I say, holding up my phone for her to see. “Are we not on the same flight back?”
She hands me her phone and I take hers. “It says you have a layover on Ellery Island. I don’t have that,” Margo says. “Maybe you should talk to customer service when we get inside.”
The cabbie is still staring back at us, his dark brown eyes flat and annoyed. “So, Terminal B?”
I nod. “That’s fine.”
Why would we be on separate flights?
I shake my head, my muscles twitching as I think about every worst-case scenario. I continue to get stuck on the one where Kemp paid people off to change my plans. I want to believe it’s unrealistic, but is it? I mean, he followed me here.
“I’ll talk to someone at the front desk,” I say, grabbing my bag out of the trunk as Margo pays the cabbie. That’s one thing she has plenty of… money. Her parents own a winery in San Francisco, and they aren’t stingy in the least. In fact, Margo has never really hurt for much of anything.
As I run through the doors, I don’t bother checking in. Instead, I hustle toward the front desk to avoid standing in the line of people I see heading in the same direction.
“Hello,” I say to the woman at the counter. “I had a flight back to San Francisco today with a friend, and for some reason we’ve gotten on separate planes. Is there a way to switch it ba—”
“Do you have your ticket number?” The woman’s voice is plain and flat. She’s young, maybe my age, but she’s got a stick up her ass that’s clearly influencing her attitude.
I hand her my phone, the app pulled up with the barcode displayed. “I just want to be on Flight 183. It’s the nonstop to San Francisco.”
The woman laughs and hands me back my phone. “That’s not possible ma’am. That flight is packed. This is the earliest we can get you out. Looks like you have a layover on Ellery Island, another in Atlanta, and the last in Jackson Hole. That should get you home around Tuesday at four o’clock local time.”
She’s so snarky, that I have to hold back from biting out my words. “Can I at least know how I got bumped from my original flight? I mean, could someone have changed this without my consent?”
She narrows her eyes, noting the long line forming behind me. “Sometimes we oversell flights. If that’s the case, the people that booked last get bumped.”
“But this isn’t an equal flight,” I say. “You have me stopping three times. My original trip was straight through.”
“Correct, ma’am. I do apologize for the inconvenience. The airline would like to offer you a one-hundred-dollar travel voucher as an apology.” When she speaks, her voice is flat as though she’s a robot.
“I don’t want a hundred bucks,” I say, trying hard to keep my cool. “I want the original flight I booked.”
“I do apologize, ma’am.” She hits the wordma’amwith so much twang it sounds like an insult. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
I bite my bottom lip, as a wave of nausea rises up my throat. “Can you tell if someone else changed the flight?”
The woman’s eyes roll, as she flips her long hair behind her shoulder. “I don’t have that information, ma’am. All I see is that you’re on this flight, which leaves in less than thirty minutes. If you don’t hustle, you’re going to miss it.”
“Less than thirty minutes? I don’t leave until ten. I just loo—”
“Nine fifteen,” the woman says, twisting her computer screen toward me. “Should I—”
I shake my head and scrape my fingers through my hair, turning away from the counter to jog toward Terminal A. It’s not ideal that this is my flight, and for a second, I think maybe this is just the universe telling me to stay in Antigua. Maybe Brad will come back through, or change his mind about wherever he was going and come find me.
The fantasy flickers through my head as my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Margo.
“Hey,” I say, holding the phone to my ear as I rush through people toward the gate.
“Where are you?”
“I’m racing to my gate. It’s not a mistake, I have to take this chicken plane home.”
“Are you kidding me? What the hell?”
“I know. It’s fine though. I mean, it gives me more time to think. Maybe… I’ll figure out a plan with all the extra time.”
